


In Limine

by Catspit, Starherd



Series: Erratum Ad Infinitum [2]
Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dysphoria, Emergency Backup Flug, Flug still wants to go home, Flugcest - Freeform, Graphic Violence, Mind The Gore, None of these are nice people, Not A Cinnamon Roll, Other, Paperhat - Freeform, Slug and White deserve each other, Starherd's Flug's-Bag-Is-A-Flat Headcanon, That Unrequited Obsession ain't so Unrequited now, Trans Characters, You can't trust anybody but yourself, You heard me, emotional messiness, except White Hat and he has Issues, when there's violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catspit/pseuds/Catspit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starherd/pseuds/Starherd
Summary: AU continuation of In Perpetuity, branching from a point in chapter 15 of that story.A copy of Flug's consciousness is trapped in the body of a telepathic heroine; this is nothing but awkward. Wanting to go home doesn't stop just because it's not really your home, and just making a new home isn't as easily done as said.Also that incident with Black Hat that failed to be fatal has really made a mess of things.And White Hat is an idiot.
Relationships: Black Hat & Dr. Flug (Villainous), Black Hat/Dr. Flug (Villainous), Demencia & Dr. Flug (Villainous), Dr. Flug & Dr. Slug (Villainous), Dr. Flug (Villainous) & Original Character(s), Dr. Flug/Dr. Flug (Villainous), Dr. Flug/White Hat (Villainous), Dr. Slug & White Hat (Villainous), Dr. Slug/White Hat (Villainous), White Hat (Villainous) & Original Character(s)
Series: Erratum Ad Infinitum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891288
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	In Limine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an AU (or alternate timeline?) spawned from my fic [In Perpetuity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358383/chapters/53414248). It branches from partway through chapter 15 of that fic, so for the full explanation of what's going on, read that fic (at least up through chapter 15).
> 
> There's a chapter zero, posted separately because it's rated explicit, which covers exactly what changed, and there'll be other bits along those lines later. You can read this mature-rated fic without them if you're under 18 or uncomfortable with explicit adult content, though for plot reasons, there'll be some referencing (particularly in this chapter, by necessity) - though nothing explicit, obviously. All you really have to know here is, a particular _*cough cough*_ encounter progressed differently than in In Perpetuity, and this version of Flug suddenly has to re-evaluate everything he feels regarding Black Hat.
> 
> This AU is completely different from the _actual_ sequel to In Perpetuity (Ex Post Facto). Which is also progressing. I... have no self control, apparently. I also have an enabler, Catspit, who I'm crediting as co-writer because a lot of this fic will be worked out from things we write together.
> 
> All this because _somebody_ couldn't keep it in their pants after all. _*Side-eyes Black Hat.*_
> 
> \--------------------
> 
> **What Has Gone Before:**
> 
> The headcanon that started this mess is: Flug's bag is a camouflaged eldritch brain leech that, should Flug die (which, unbeknownst to Flug, _happens_ ), will either reconstruct his body or take over another to turn into him, preserving all but the inconvenient (death) memories that would reveal its existence (and might be damagingly traumatic).
> 
> The last time this happened, his personality/memories were accidentally copied into the brain of not only the target, but also a telepathic ~~snarky casual X-Men parody~~ heroine. Stuck in her body/life, Flug uncovered a plot to kill Black Hat - but getting anyone to take the threat seriously, and getting home, when he's apparently a high ranking heroine, has been miserable.
> 
> But none of that has been as terrible as being entirely dolled up and dragged to the Heroes' Gala to impersonate her. On the one hand, White Hat is there, and might be able to help... on the other hand, it's White Hat. Trying to explain didn't go well. Then Black Hat crashed, which should have resolved everything, but there was a rather dire misunderstanding that ended in Flug left naked, bleeding, and near death.
> 
> This version of Flug was already on a timer. Between being evil genius software running on less-than-compatible ESPer heroine hardware, doomed to burn out from the start, and the fact that just being near Black Hat fatally corrodes telepaths, he's only got a few more hours to resolve things before he's dead...
> 
> So far as anyone knows.
> 
> _  
> _\--------------------__  
> 

[ Music: [Treats by Sleigh Bells](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLppHOKnOvQ) ]

"Hey jackass. Did you _mean_ to set these two up or what."

At the edge of the dance floor at the Heroes' Gala, White Hat was trying to equally address the excited revelers swarming him, all the while using his height to scan the area for Instructor Y. His jaw twitched at the words that came through the subvocalizer - an organ he'd generated in his skull according to his scientist's blueprints, mimicking a transmitter. In theory, the project amounted to technological telepathy; in practice, Dr. Slug simply turned off the matching device that he'd integrated into his goggles whenever he felt like it.

But at least for the Heroes' Gala, Slug had left it on, monitoring the proceedings and reporting potential problems from his perch in one of the deserted upper balconies of the renovated theater. Unfortunately White Hat had been too preoccupied with the former Jeanne Gris, now a psychic duplicate of Dr. Flugslys, to catch Slug's warning that Black Hat had decided to attend, but at least they'd gotten to the same page after the fact.

Now, White Hat turned in Slug's direction, though eye contact wasn't necessary for the subvocalizer's function. He didn't need to physically speak for the correct nerve impulses to transmit. "Slug, what are you -"

"I'm saying, I didn't think I'd be watching porn tonight, but thanks for the awkward." White saw his paper-bag wearing companion move back from the edge of the balcony, waving at one of the box seats in the theater's sides to direct attention. "At least Black Hat's too busy to cause more trouble for a bit. I'm going on break."

"Don't underestimate him," White murmured aloud, frowning at the shadowy alcove in question. He'd questioned Dr. Flug's sense of decency a little while ago, but he already knew full well that Black Hat had none. Clearly an intervention was in order before things got too out of hand.

"Okay, fair, but I'm still -"

A low sound rumbled throughout the theater. For most of the humans present, it went unremarked - too low to be part of the music, not sustained enough for an earthquake, possibly assumed to be an especially large truck passing the old building if it was noticed at all. A few - those attending heroes with enhanced hearing - looked toward the box seats, but every single one of them abruptly decided that the source of the sound was officially none of their business.

The accompanying infrasound, however, made for a subconscious disquiet that briefly dampened the din of the Gala, regardless of White Hat's pervasive aura of well-being.

White Hat himself went stiff, a sharp shiver running up his spine as his eye widened in shock. He now couldn't help knowing _exactly_ what Black Hat was getting up to with his scientist. Or rather, with the unfortunate duplicate of his scientist, trapped in the body of a wispy telepathic super-heroine, and oh, White did _not_ want to think about that upsetting circumstance right now.

Instead, he made a quick little gesture with one hand, sealing a perception filter around the box. So long as Black Hat and what was _his_ remained within, no one would hear or see anything further, for what it was worth.

In retrospect, White decided that he really should have seen this coming, given how possessive and lacking in particular sorts of self-control Black Hat was. He suppressed a sigh, turning and smiling to the trio of heroes talking animatedly to him, though he was sure that at least one of them must have noticed by now that they didn't have his full attention.

Over their heads, toward the back of the auditorium, he thought he glimpsed Instructor Y through an open door. "Forgive me, I - please, excuse me," he hastily placated, trying to move toward the door.

By the time he successfully extricated himself and ducked into the hall, there was no sign of Y. White looked in the direction he'd seen her going; the hallway cornered sharply not far away, with an emergency exit at the end.

The moment that he judged himself alone, as he made for the exit, White's tongue flicked serpentine between teeth that weren't quite as human-blunt as they'd been before. He'd guessed correctly - the scent of Y's cosmetics that he recalled from earlier in the evening still lingered, stuffy and sour at the back of his tongue. She'd been here a moment ago.

The door swung open into the stifling scent of a city alley, and a rustling sound to the side caught his attention. His head whipped around and he quick-stepped toward the end of the street, subconsciously drawing around himself his own perception filter that he generally used in public. Damping down his aura of comfort and pleasantness, however, was a conscious decision - he wanted Y's unfiltered honesty, and he knew that if she sensed his aura, she might well flee.

At the end of the block, there was nothing but smelly, empty sidewalk and disinterested cars moving past. The rustling sounded again - it was only a rat gnawing at a sandwich wrapper. This time, scent-tasting brought no trace of Y. He'd gone the wrong way.

He should have known, White realized after retracing his steps. There was access to the parking garage through the alley. Perhaps her car had been waiting for her there?

But by the time White realized that there was no sign of Y there either, her scent was gone from the alley entirely, drowned out by the smell of dumpsters and long-unwashed asphalt.

White Hat barely had time to register his concern before Slug's voice came through the subvocalizer. "Fuck get back here I think Black killed him."

White was back inside the theater in a figurative flash - he didn't dare teleport for fear of accidentally harming attendees. But as soon as he was back to the auditorium and could see the clear path, he didn't hesitate. The highlights of the golden baroque decor at the edges of the box seat momentarily pooled together, the glimmer granting him passage. It was doubtful that anyone noticed - he hadn't dropped his filters.

He stopped short, eye wide again, staring in horror at the bruised, bleeding form discarded against the wall. 

"I was wrong, still breathing," Slug muttered without looking at White, crouched with bared fingers against the body's throat. "Pulse shallow. But the bleeding..."

White could distantly hear Slug's clinical voice, but all he could see were the hand-print contusions and claw gouges and bite punctures on pale skin, blood flowing free elsewhere in deadly quantity. He wasn't sure if it was worse seeing Miss Gris like this, or knowing that she was already gone and it wasn't her at all dying before him. The scent of fresh blood was overpowering, and there was something else - something -

He wasn't going to think about that right now. He hastily removed his tailcoat, draping it over the duplicate, partly for modesty and partly to help with the blood. Stars, this was his fault; he'd basically thrown this poor desperate thing at his counterpart. He should have known that Black Hat wouldn't consider such an accidental being to be anything but disposable.

White swallowed and knelt next to Dr. Slug, pulling off his own gloves to lay gray hands on the body. "I should have known," he began aloud, before cutting himself off in surprise at the feeling of electric corrosion invisibly eating away at his fingertips. Psychic damage...? Oh. Oh no. "Oh heavens, I wasn't thinking! I did this!"

"The hell are you babbling about," Slug snapped. He thumbed open the duplicate's right eye to check with a pen light, and, after watching pupil contract, moved to the left, only to shudder. The sclera gleamed red with burst capillaries; the pupil was dilated and unresponsive, seeming to consume the light like a black hole. "Looks like head injury," he added, though it didn't quite add up. There didn't seem to be the bruising or cracked bone that would indicate a blow to the face - only an almost invisible, pale, jagged line tracing from hairline to upper lip.

Slug glanced sidelong at White Hat, waiting to be asked why he hadn't simply intervened. As though interrupting Black Hat in that kind of mood could have been anything but fatal. Hell, interrupting _Flug_ might have been fatal, under the circumstances. And it wasn't as though he hadn't clearly said that he wasn't up for keeping an eye on them at that point. But if he had...

"The damage isn't just physical," White tried to explain, abruptly close to tears despite remaining focused on his task. "Just being close to Black Hat is lethal for telepaths, and I _forgot!_ I pushed them together - I might as well have killed him myself!"

Slug found himself inexplicably annoyed by the realization that White Hat would rather blame himself than the person that could possibly have actually done something. "So fix it," he huffed. "And cut that out. You didn't do..." He gestured at the near-corpse. "This."

" _I'm responsible!_ " White almost wailed. Nevertheless, a soft opalescent glow flowed from his hands onto the body, into it, coloring the skin's pallor a little in its wake as he moved. It felt like the psychic damage was so great that it greedily drank away the energy he poured into it, slowing the physical mending. "His mind's already so broken - I don't know if I can - I don't know if there's anything left of him. The taste is off..."

"I'll take your word for it." Slug tucked the pen light back into his trench coat. "Ambulance?"

"If his mind's gone, there's no point," White mumbled miserably. "I can't - I can't tell. There's something in the way..." He swallowed. "His - Jeanne's brain is... it's failing. I can't reach..."

Slug sighed. "Get out of the way, then." His hand moved toward a holster hidden under his coat. "I'll make it quick."

"No!" White's head snapped up to face his companion, expression painfully distressed.

His hand instantly stopped moving. "Make up your goddamned mind," Slug growled. "He salvageable or not?"

"I don't know!" He _should_ know, but White couldn't even place why he didn't. Something wasn't right - or rather, nothing was right. "I don't know, just - just let me stop the bleeding." 

"Yeah, well, let me know if you change your mind."

It only took minutes, but the uncertain wait was excruciating. White Hat finally lowered his head and let his shoulders relax. "Right. We should be able to get him out of here now. I'll clean up, I just - I need a moment."

Slug regarded him with a still and level gaze, masking the unease of seeing White appear at all tired like this. "Look, worry about cleaning later. Where do we take him? Hospital?"

White shook his head. "The infirmary in the penthouse. If it comes to it and there's nothing else to be done - well. It'll be easier there."

\-----------------

There should have been nothing, but there was something. That was all right. There would be nothing soon.

"Holy - I mean - I - _Wow!_ I knew you were messed up, but, damn! What a ride!"

He couldn't bring himself to mind, unwilling to let go of the dizzying mix of pride and satisfaction that eclipsed all else. For once, the laughter wasn't malicious, just... amused? Shared. That was the difference. Flug grinned, or would have, had there actually been any physicality to his current perception. Feeling that he did would have to suffice. Nothing mattered, and nothing would ever matter again, and that was perfect.

"God, though, do you have some thinking to do." The woman, or impression thereof, laughed again. "You were all, 'It's not like that -'"

"Oh, shut up." He was still grinning, no bite to his words. Perception dictated that he was lying on his back in an all-encompassing gray-fog void; knowledge said that this was only a manifestation of self in a brain that was shutting down. "Don't have to think. No point. Don't spoil my last moments nattering at me."

"They're my last moments too, you know." Jeanne Gris appeared as she had been before Flug had unintentionally overwritten her: pale, long wavy platinum-violet hair, silver eyes. She seemed to be lying head-to-head with him, a little offset, so that they could have seen each other if either of them had turned, and if sight were an actual phenomenon here.

Flug studied the warm feeling that glowed inside him like a coal, and felt a tiny stab of concern. "You think he got the message?"

"I think he got _a_ message."

Both of them started helplessly snickering again, both experiencing the same endorphin high in their shared brain. What was left thereof, anyway.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything quite like this. If he ever had. He couldn't really describe it to himself. It felt... weightless, maybe? Freeing? Like... like _power._

"I don't think he ever expected to be bit _back,_ " Jeanne giggled.

Flug suffered another stabbing feeling, this one sharper. It didn't dim the glowing feeling, but it was connected, pulling strangely. He wanted - wanted to go back, feel breath and microscales and teeth, wanted to keep what he'd finally won.

He interrupted his thoughts before the warm feeling could turn painful. "Doesn't really matter anymore, does it." There was no going back, and that buoyed him up again - this was a better ending than he could ever have hoped for.

"Nothing to be done," Jeanne agreed with her own sigh. She turned to face him, though she could only sense his paper bag-mask and goggles, and that he seemed to be wearing a pilot's uniform. "Hey, got a question, villain."

Flug smirked. The distinctions didn't matter any more either. "Shoot."

"Do you remember what you really look like?"

He frowned. It wasn't a paper bag at all. It was the memory of a symbiotic shape-shifting alien brain-leech that acted as Flug's - the real Flug's - backup system, reconstructing him should his body die. He'd grown so accustomed to its presence that it even appeared as part of his most internalized impression of himself, even when his consciousness was copied into a body that had never come into contact with it.

"I don't care."

"Liar."

"Villain."

"Monster." She grinned again. "Because you want to be."

Flug snorted. "If you think I'm going to look for some kind of forgiveness at the last moment -"

"You?" she laughed. "Not at all. You - you _burn,_ you know that? Psychically speaking."

The gray fog darkened a little. "Word choice," Flug muttered.

"Like a nuclear reactor."

"Heh, okay." One side of his mouth gave a smug twist. "Fission. Ultimate destruction."

"Fusion, now. All-consuming. Like a black hole."

He rolled his eyes. "Those are two completely different phenomena."

Jeanne turned onto her back with a laugh. "You got to be exactly as you wanted to be. I can admire that. I never got the chance."

It was Flug's turn to glance toward her. "You're - you were one of the most powerful ESPers in the world. If not _the_ most powerful. You had nothing _but_ chances."

"And I never took them," she murmured. "I was never allowed and I never hurt enough to question it. I wasn't even allowed to remember..." The environment darkened further; she sighed. "And you're still a monster out there."

He didn't respond, turning the feeling of that thought over a few times. Pride, he decided. It was satisfying.

"We did our best," she tried after a little while, unwilling to fall quiet just yet.

She was afraid, Flug thought - that was why she kept talking. Well, talking couldn't hurt. What did it matter. He hadn't even known that she was still sharing this brain, until he'd found himself in this space, and he could have some sympathy for being unseen and unheard, he supposed.

So he smiled. "Speak for yourself. I did my worst."

They started laughing again. It was complete freedom: pleasure without consequence, possibly for the first time in either of their lives.

"Thank you." Her voice was quiet. The fog shaded a little darker.

Flug snorted. "What the hell for."

"The past week's been... enlightening," she said, though the corner of her mouth couldn't quite stop twitching. "Also that last bit... that wasn't an experience I ever expected to have."

"To be fair, neither did I."

"Okay, okay, granted," she admitted. "But I mean... I mean it wouldn't feel the same for just me. But you, for you, it... You experience things differently."

"Well, yeah."

"Not like that! I mean, I'm a telepath and never considered... there's some things I never thought I'd enjoy, all right?" She laughed again. "But you, just... wow. Off the scale."

"Scale?"

"Like, one to ten, I've had like... nine, before. Now that I can remember everything. But that was dialed up past eleven."

Flug gave a smug grin, but it faded after a moment. "Wait, Dick was a _nine?!_ "

Jeanne burst out laughing. "Oh, god, no, Richard never got past... like... four. Even before he..." She huffed, smile fading. "Before he... started disappearing, piece by piece..."

Flug turned his head enough to see her, struggling to understand. "You killed him. I - that wasn't me at all, the telekinesis, was it. I thought you were already gone but you were hiding here the whole time."

"I had to keep my mother out of your - our head, once I knew what she was doing. Took a lot. Richard, though..." Her face eased as though the acknowledgement made it all right. "It was mercy. He... there wasn't much of him left in there, really. And what was left was... well." She sighed again. "I'll see him soon, won't I. Like he used to be. Wherever souls go."

"Don't ask me," he shrugged. "Don't have one."

"Technically you do," she pointed out.

"It's _his._ Not mine anymore," Flug tried to explain. "And he doesn't just give things uh..." Something clicked in his thoughts. "Up," he finished, suddenly feeling a little numb. And elated. And numb. Shock, that was the word. His mouth pulled into an uncontrollably wide and strangely desperate grin. 

Jeanne's brow furrowed. "What."

"I'm... I'm _his._ "

"Did you seriously just figure that out?" She gave an incredulous, amused huff. "After all that?"

"No, I mean - I -" his smile faded. "Instructor Y needed something to sacrifice to hold Black Hat long enough to kill."

Jeanne's expression dropped. "Something he -"

"- Values." The fog around them grew darker still. "She still has the other... the real me."

"Well," Jeanne said after a moment. "Doesn't matter now, right? He obviously won't let it happen. So my mother's stopped, Black Hat lives, and the world stays balanced. Everything's fine." She swallowed. "Not like there's anything we could do now anyway."

"Yeah."

She fell silent. Flug focused again on that warm feeling-memory and found himself at self-satisfied peace again.

"Dr. Flugslys?"

She pronounced his name properly. That, too, was satisfaction. Not that she could help it, being a telepath, but it was still good. It had been a good week that way. "Hm."

"I don't want to go," she murmured, as though she'd just noticed.

Flug was struck by the realization that it wasn't fear that prompted her. It was regret. She'd said it fairly clearly - she was envious of the freedom she'd never felt she had. Of him.

His mouth twisted with pride, even as the impression of space around them closed in darkness. "Tough."

Nothing.

\----------------------

Flug's eyes snapped open. They shouldn't have, but they did.

He blinked and stared a tiled white ceiling, brow furrowed, trying to order the jumbled thoughts in his head and sort out what was real from what wasn't.

He felt weirdly alone in a way he hadn't for a very long time. Years. That would be because there had literally been a presence with him since he'd been hired by Black Hat, namely, the paper bag that wasn't a paper bag. He'd never consciously realized its presence - it wouldn't allow that, he suspected - but now that he knew... well. Jeanne might still in residence, of course, but he hadn't been able to tell if she was present in the first place, so what was missing was now obvious.

He lifted his right hand; the left arm twinged at he elbow when he tried. An IV? And there was a regular but quickening beeping sound just behind him. A heart rate monitor. 

But more importantly, that wasn't his hand. No scars, too delicate, paint chipping off from the fingernails he'd blunted.

Breathing a little faster, he reached up, tugging a wisp of hair into his view - lavender, wavy. Not _his._ This was still Jeanne Gris' body.

He wasn't dead. _He wasn't fucking dead._

Flug shot upright with a shout, flinging away the fingertip heart rate sensor. The monitor immediately started a steady warning shriek. He clawed at the tape holding the IV needle in his arm until he had it out; the needle clattered down to dangle from its tubing. Flug instinctively covered the tiny wound with his thumb, gritting his teeth at the intrusive way the position moved this damned body's breasts.

He should be dead he should be dead he should be dead he should be where the fuck was he. Hospital? Not sterile enough. Prison? Too nice -

The larger of the room's doors burst open hard enough to bang into the wall behind it. "Dr. Flug!"

White Hat. Of course. His tailcoat was missing, the sleeves of his ice blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, the shirt tail coming untucked under his vest as though he'd been carrying something unwieldy. Like an unconscious person.

The damned failure of an eldritch being must have used his powers to heal him. Even the irritating splinter wounds on this body's hands were gone now. This idiot that couldn't even get his name right had kept him from dying.

Flug kicked at the sheets, tearing them away. "Get out!" he snarled, and immediately contradicted himself by continuing to yell. "You fucking - you couldn't just leave well enough alone, you meddling - I was supposed to die!"

He wasn't even physically sore. He hadn't been left a single bruise or bite or claw-puncture so that he could hang on to the reality of - of what he'd experienced. It _had_ happened, hadn't it?

White Hat's expression turned from concerned to mortified as he approached, but he reached past Flug to turn off the whining heart rate monitor anyway. "Dr. Flug, I'm - you were - I couldn't -"

Flug shoved off the bed and onto his bare feet, grabbing White Hat by his shirt, although with Jeanne's body being a little shorter than even his own, he didn't have the leverage to shake White until his neck snapped like he wanted. "You couldn't just let me die how I _wanted,_ could you, you pompous, overbearing, self-righteous -"

"Don't -" White Hat reached to take Flug's shoulders. "You lost so much blood, how are you..." He stopped short of actually touching and raised his hands as though in surrender instead. "Wait, wanted?!"

"Don't worry, you're still dying," Slug announced as he entered the room. He dropped a bundle of clothing - scrubs and undergarments, with a spare lab coat - onto the low cabinet next to the door, and held up a steaming mug so that Flug could see it. "Let him go and you can have the coffee."

The scent of the coffee hit Flug's nose with a lightning-strike of hunger. "Fuck you," he snapped, releasing White Hat and shoving him aside, and taking the few steps forward for the mug. He realized as he grabbed it that he couldn't recall what he'd last had to eat or drink, or when. Also that he'd been cleaned and dressed in a wrap-around hospital gown. He didn't want to think about it.

"Also, how are you upright?" Slug demanded, folding his arms as soon as he'd relinquished the drink.

Flug made a wordless sound in the cadence of "I don't know" while taking a long gulp of the coffee. It was some ridiculous sweet flavor, probably vanilla crème brûlée or something because _White Hat_ , but it was also hot enough that he burned his tongue, which felt strangely like a little retaliation for the ending that had been denied him. 

"Dr. Flug," White Hat began in a slightly formal tone, openly wringing his hands, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't realize that, uh -"

"What," Flug mumbled into the mug, glaring.

"I didn't realize that it was consensual," White finished awkwardly - more embarrassed by having denied Flug the death he'd chosen than anything else. “I mean, Black Hat... Well, it seemed a bit... excessive, even by his standards."

Flug outright smirked, which was not at all hidden by the mug at his lips.

"I can't watch," Slug muttered, rolling his eyes at White. He nodded to Flug. "If you're not gonna keel over immediately, I'll go find you some shoes." He ducked back out of the room.

White nodded to Slug, then turned back to his guest. "There was only so much I could do," he explained, hands spread helplessly. "It's beyond my capabilities to halt or repair the damage done to you - to this body - by Black Hat's aura. I could only buy you a few more hours. I'm sorry that I - well, had I known -" 

Flug drained the mug and set it down hard on the counter, then leaned against the surface, facing White. "Stuff it."

White Hat had the grace to at least pause, offering a grimace, before continuing. “The thing is, I've been trying to call Black Hat since I left the Gala. I thought he'd at least want to know you weren't dead, after all. But he's only picked up once, and all he said was that no one could prove anything. And then he hung up on me.” White huffed, reaching to adjust his squared-off monocle slightly. “Did you actually get to, ah, to _talk_ to him at all? Please forgive me; I didn't take you seriously enough, before. I'm sorry...”

Flug gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, and exhaled in a slow, controlled manner.

He had really, _really_ liked the idea of having no more responsibilities or consequences or concerns.

He should have known that it wouldn't work that way.

Flug straightened, shoulders back, taking on a more professional demeanor. "Did you talk to Y? What time is it?"

“It's late,” White Hat said, a little uncertain at the change. It was presumably a good sign for Flug's mental state, he decided. He nodded to direct Flug's attention to the wall clock. “I wasn't able to find Y again at the Gala, no. I tried, but I didn't get very far before... um.” He made a small gesture to indicate Flug's body. "It was... bad. I couldn't just leave y-"

"So you're telling me," Flug interrupted in a hiss, staring down the overpowered being before him with all the righteous fury of unfollowed instructions, "that _nobody's gotten around to stopping Y's goddamned spell yet?_ "

**Author's Note:**

> \--------------------
> 
> I'm likely to go slower writing for the time being, and sometimes work on one for more chapters in a row than the other, of these two sequel type fics. This is just because of Real Life demands/events rather than a lack of interest - including writing original fiction as well. :D


End file.
